All the Times
by Niar-Muse
Summary: The stories of Cymbeline and Onmund, from when they met, to marriage, to starting a family and everything in between. Fem!DragonBorn/Onmund
1. Warding Spells

Cymbeline took a deep breath as she looked up, the Hall of the Elements loomed over her, casting its long shadow in the white snow as the wind picked up, tugging on her apprentice robes and freezing her to the bone. Long had she dreamed to standing on the grounds of Skyrim's infamous College of Winterhold, ever since she had been a little girl just beginning to dabble into the mysterious world of magic, she had her eyes set on this feat.

Winterhold was a big change from her home city of Bravil, much colder and harsher than she was used to, probably due to the lack of walls and buildings in the hallow shell of a once grand city. She had quickly discovered through wayward glares that her kind was not welcome, her kind being a mage, despite there being a college just outside of the city, the people of Winterhold's few remaining settlements resented the college and its applicants. Cymbeline felt herself lucky that she had been able to pass the entrance exam with ease, the wrenching feeling of having to hunker down in the ruins of old homes that night were a dark thought she had pushed far away, for now she had a room in the Hall of Attainment that was warm and well furnished, perfect for her work.

She had received her robes upon initial tours of the College, little to no one was around save for herself and Mirabelle Ervine, the Master Wizard. Cymbeline had yet to meet any of her fellow classmates, but was told they were already in the Hall of the Elements, just about to start their first class.

* * *

Taking a deep breath, Cymbeline plastered a warm smile across her face and pushed the heavy doors open, the moment she stepped in warmth surrounded her, the hum of magic was present in the air, but it was only a whisper in the back of Cymbeline's head.

She had entered a small chamber that was scantily decorated, two heavy wooden doors were on either side of her, no doubt leading up further into the tower. An iron gate stood before her, the college's eye decorated the closed gate, staring straight at Cymbeline as she strode towards the gate, growing more excited as her smile grew larger, a bounce surfaced in her stride that she tried to repress with her smile, she had to be professional.

Three students stood before her, a Khajiit, a Dunmer and a Nord who looked slightly disappointed at Cymbeline. An old Nord man stood before the students, she assumed him to be Tolfdir, one of her instructors.

"Welcome! Welcome, we were just about to begin, please stay and listen!" Tolfdir greeted as Cymbeline stood next to the Nord whom glanced over for a few short seconds before returning his attention to Tolfdir.

"So, as I was saying, the first thing to understand is that magic is, by its very nature, volatile and dangerous." Tolfdir continued "Unless you can control it, it can and will destroy you."

Cymbeline felt a shiver run through her body, she knew the affects of magic backlash almost all too well.

"Sir I think we all understand that fairly well, we wouldn't be here if we couldn't control magic." The Dunmer interrupted, lifting her hands slightly to further push her point and focus attention on her.

"Of course my dear, of course." Tolfdir defended, "You all posses some inherent natural ability, that much is not being questioned."

"What I'm talking about is true control, mastery of Magic." He continued, voice carrying around the Hall of the Elements, "It takes years, if not decades of practice and studying."

"Then what are we waiting for? Lets get started." The Khajiit spoke up, his voice thick with his native accent as Cymbeline shifted her weight from foot to foot, this was starting to become out of hand.

"Please! Please, this is exactly what I'm talking about!" Tolfdir loudly said as silence befell the apprentices.

"Eagerness must be tempered with caution or else disaster is inevitable."

"But we've only just arrived here! You've no idea what any of us are capable of!" The Nord to Cymbeline's right added, a smile forming on his face as he leaned back "Why not give us a chance to show you what we can do?"

Cymbeline was almost thrown back by this, not only had the Nord proved a valid point, he had brought up a suggestion neither of the two previous apprentices had before. She was intrigued.

"You've been quite so far.." Tolfdir trailed, looking over at Cymbeline, "What do you think we should do?"

She thought about it, safety was the most important, but also learning spells to counteract would prove useful in the long run.

"I think we should learn something practical. Perhaps a warding spell." Cymbeline suggested, having made her decision as her classmates smiled at her.

"Is that so?" Tolfdir sighed.

"See? She agrees with us too." The Dunmer added, motioning towards Cymbeline, "Why don't you actually show us something?"

"Alright, lets settle down. I suppose we can try something practical." Tolfdir took a breath "In continuing our theme of safety, we'll start with wards."

"Wards are protective spells that block magic, I'll teach you all a ward and we'll see if you can use it to block spells. Alright?" A collective nod came from the apprentices as Tolfdir once again turned to Cymbeline.

"Would you mind helping me with the demonstration? Are you at all familiar with ward spells?" To which Cymbeline nodded.

"I've used one before." She mentioned as Tolfdir nodded in approval.

"Now… if you'll just stand right over there. I'll cast a spell at you and you block it with the ward." Cymbeline did as instructed and stepped back a few paces, the spell for the lesser ward was already forming in her hands, it would be perfect for this sort of demonstration.

Before her the apprentices shifted behind their instructor as a ball of fire formed in the palms of his hands, a fire ball. Holding her hand up, she let magicka flow through her body, down her arm and out the palm of her hand, a clear semi circle of magic bloomed before her.

With in seconds of the ward being placed, it was up to full strength, and Cymbeline could feel her magicka draining, but Tolfdir was quick and sent the fire ball towards her. The fire was absorbed by her ward, sending ripples throughout the shield as Cymbeline halted the spell, breathing heavily as magic returned into her.

"Excellent work!" Tolfdir proclaimed with a smile, letting his hand fall to his side as Cymbeline followed suite, "Well I think this is an excellent start. I'd like you all to continue practicing with wards please."

* * *

To which the four apprentices did, Cymbeline finding herself setting up an ice spike spell with the Dunmer across from her. They conversed slightly, trading names and stories until Tolfdir had called them off.

"I think perhaps we're ready to begin exploring some of the various applications of magic throughout history. The college has undertaken a fascinating investigation in the ruins of Saarthal nearby." Tolfdir explained, the Nord's eyes lighting up as the old mage continued "It's an excellent learning opportunity, I suggest we meet there in a few hours and see what awaits us inside. That's all for now, thank you."

* * *

Cymbeline was excited, she had never been in Nordic Ruins before, the only ruins she had been in were the Ayleid Ruins she had camped in on her way from Bravil to Skyrim. Having passed a few Nordic Ruins on her way through the harsh climates of Skyrim, they were different from what she was used to seeing.

However, by the time she had left for Saarthal, the weather had picked up, snow was being tossed into the wind, crashing against the heavy cloaks Cymbeline wore to stave off the cold. Winter was harsher and more unforgiving in Skyrim than back in Cyrodiil, the bitter wind cut through her clothing, the snow clung to the edges of her gear and the veil of white that blinded her in the churning snows of the mountains surrounding Winterhold's south western border.

She clung to the edges of her cloaks, having a difficult time peering through the blinding veil and keeping up with the other apprentices, the Dunmer named Brelyna and the Khajiit named J'zargo were faint shadows in the icy storm that they pushed through towards Saarthal.

The snow was easy to walk on at least, but hidden patches of ice constantly threw Cymbeline off balance and stumbling into the snow. Now shivering she was attempting to light up a fire spell in her hands, trying to keep warm when she felt her footing give once more. Snow billowed up around her as her hood fell back, her copper hair flying in the harsh winds as the icy cold bit at her fingertips when her hands plunged into the snow.

"Need a hand?"

Cymbeline looked up, peering through the snow at the Nord that stood before her, a hand extended down to her as she took it gratefully and was hoisted to her feet. The Nord had an easier time with the snow and seemed not to mind it as Cymbeline buried her cold hands in her cloaks, bunching the fabrics and furs around them, feeling coming back into her fingers slowly.

"Thanks." She managed out through violent shivers, she hated winter.

"New to Skyrim, eh?" The Nord asked as Cymbeline nodded.

"I'd hoped I wouldn't be the only Nord, but I should've known better." He breathed, Cymbeline looking over at him.

"I noticed that. Why aren't there any Nords at the College?"

"Magic is shunned by most. If it can't be swung over your head and used to crack skulls, most Nords want nothing to do with it. Magic is seen as something for elves, and weaker races." To which Cymbeline frowned and the Nord took notice.

"No offense, of course." He added quickly. She was already beginning to like him, for starters, he had an aptitude for magic despite living in a society that shunned magic users.

"Cymbeline Fire-Weaver." She said, breaking the silence that had fallen between the two of them, save for the crunching of snow underfoot and the howling winds.

"What?"

"My name, thought you'd ought to know." Cymbeline grinned, Saarthal coming into sight.

"I'm Onmund."

And that was the start of a long and complicated friendship between the two, and one of the many times Onmund had to pick her up out of the snow.

* * *

**Hello there, today I present to you the first in a series of one shots following the story of Onmund and the Imperial Dragonborn, Cymbeline. Chapters will be updated every Wednesday and Saturday, I'd love to hear your feed back and improve on the story, till next time! **


	2. From Dwarven Ruins

It was late into the night when she finally returned, dragging herself through the College gates, robes stained and torn, copper hair askew and weighed down with exhaustion.

Cymbeline had entered the Hall of Attainment half awake, peeled her robes off her body and pulled a simple tunic over her head, falling onto her bed and into a deep slumber.

* * *

Onmund watched from his room, he couldn't sleep, not one bit. Having paced for several hours, his feet were sore, but sleep had yet to reach him. A frown found its way onto his face when he saw the near closed slash across her back, he should have gone with her to those Dwarven Ruins, but she had left before he could follow and she traveled quickly.

Quietly, the Nord crossed the Hall of Attainment and into the Imperial's bedroom, it was furnished like everyone else's room, providing a bed, a desk, a wardrobe and several small chairs, tables, benches. Open tomes littered her desk, broken quills and empty jars of ink peaked out from under scrolls and over charcoal. The occasional gleam of a soul gem or a potion bottle caught in the candle light as Cymbeline breathed easy. Once burning vibrant gold eyes hidden under eye lids, flicking from side to side as she stirred slightly, causing the Nord to stop as she settled once more.

Her pack laid at the foot of the bed, haphazardly thrown there when she entered, her blood stained and torn mage robes laid in a pile on the ground as Onmund let out a sigh, picked up a blanket bunched at the bottom of Cymbeline's bed and laid it over her, brushed hair out of her face and blew out her candles.

Fumbling around in the dark, he scooped up her robes, the scent of blood and oil wafted up to Onmund as he held the robes in his arms. From what he had seen on Cymbeline, she had only owned two pairs of robes, obviously alternating them between days.

He thought it nice if she would have a clean set of robes to wear when she woke up.

* * *

The night passed and the sun rose over the horizon, rising high over head and casting down a bright light when Cymbeline finally awoke, the pain in her body was now a distant throb becoming less and less as the soothing healing magic she wielded washed over her senses.

Looking around her room, she was slightly stunned to see the robes she had worn to the Dwarven Ruins of Mzulft were laying on the short table by her door, cleaned and patched up, though a little sloppily.

Throwing her legs over the bed, she stood and wobbled slightly, her vision swam as a headache rang through her head. Magic Exhaustion, she had used so much of it on those damnable Falmer and Dwarven Sphere Guardians, using it again on that focusing crystal and then on her way back when she ran into a group of Thalmor.

Though her magic was exhausted, Cymbeline slipped on her robes and downed a Potion of Magicka, the taste of Briar Heart and Creep Cluster was overwhelming in her mouth, but it could be masked with a swig of wine and half a loaf of bread with salmon steak atop it.

As soon as she took a step in her robes, a scrap of paper fell out of her pocket and skittered along the ground. Curious, Cymbeline turned and picked up the scrap of paper. Ink written words crossed the paper.

_Cymbeline, _

_I fixed your robes for you, thought you might like a clean set to wear. _

_-Onmund. _

A smile graced her face as she looked in the direction of Onmund's room, the scratching of quills on parchment paper flooded from the warmly lit room as pages of old books were turned.

She slipped the note into her satchel and continued with a light bounce to her step.

It would be one of the many times he had patched her clothing up late in the night, truth be told, he did end up getting better at it.

* * *

**And here is chapter two, on time, as promised on saturday. I hope you guys have enjoyed it, please leave a review down below and I'll see you guys next chapter.**


	3. A Mage well Met

Cymbeline was beginning to notice Onmund's down behavior, how his spells faltered slightly and his work became sloppy. Being Archmage did not derive her from her studies, she had much to learn and much to master, it helped that her classmates would help her practice.

Onmund was one of her favorites to practice with, not only did he catch on quickly, the two shared a closer bond between them simply to the fact that they were both human.

Their practice sessions got longer and longer, toiling into the late hours of the night, but now Onmund was faltering, seemingly distracted by something else and hardly noticing Cymbeline halting her spells until she stood waving a hand in his face.

"Is something wrong?" She asked, snapping the Nord Mage out of his trance as he looked at her with a grim look on his face.

"Yes.." He admitted, voice dropping into a whisper "But it needs to be kept quiet."

Cymbeline looked around them, the Hall of the Elements was empty, the others having turned in for the night a few hours ago, she could hear the raging blizzard outside, there was no way any one would be listening in on their conversation. With the only two occupants of the hall being Onmund and Cymbeline, she pulled him over to the small flight of stairs that encircled the main room of the hall, sitting down next to him he sighed.

"I may have entered into an… agreement with Enthir" Onmund began, resting his hands on his lap, "He had something I needed, so I traded him something of mine."

Cymbeline listened intently, watching the Nord's facial expressions as they changed from grim to regret.

"It was a mistake, and now I want back what I gave him." The Nord said quickly, bunching his hands into fists "It's an amulet that belonged to my family, and I never should've given it to Enthir. But he won't deal with me."

And the Imperial Mage's golden eyes widened at this, her hands shook slightly as she took a deep breath and repressed the feeling welling in her chest, standing up quickly and turning on a heel, a wide smile plastered itself across her face as fire burned in her golden eyes.

"Don't worry Onmund! I'll get your families amulet back if its the last thing I do!" She proclaimed as the Nord looked at her with a bewildered expression as she raced off and out the hall, into the raging storm. A chuckle rose in his chest as a smile found its way onto his face, if there was one thing he learned about the Imperial, it was that when Cymbeline set her mind to something, she would always get it done, although in her own unique way. He worried, Enthir was final on all his deals, he worried that Cymbeline might not be able to find a way.

* * *

Cymbeline made a bee line for the Hall of Attainment, entering the tower and making her way up to Enthir's room, surprisingly the Bosmer was still awake as she entered his room. There was no time for greetings or how do you do's as Cymbeline cut straight to her business.

"I understand you have something of Onmund's. He wants it back." She stated with a smile, eyes filling with mischief as Enthir only looked at her and smelled coyly.

"Oh my. How precious."

The expression on her face faltered as her smile dropped and her eyes clouded with annoyance.

"Onmund is too afraid to deal with me himself, and so he's sent you." Enthir sneered as Cymbeline stood her ground.

"I come on my own accord."

"I'll make this very simple for you. All my trades are final. Onmund knew this ahead of time, and went through with it anyway."

"So?"

"So there's nothing more to be said."

Determination filled her eyes as a frown found its way to her lips, her hands clenched and unclenched.

"There must be something I can do in exchange for the amulet."

"Look how persistent you are." Enthir commented in slight surprise "It's charming, really." To which Cymbeline felt her face heat up.

"Onmund gave up the first time I said no. But not you…." Enthir mused, tapping the tips of his fingers together in thought.

"All right." He sighed "I'll tell you a little story."

"Let's pretend for a moment that a certain individual was looking to acquire a particular staff. Let's also pretend that he traded some valuable items for said staff. And it was only later that it was realized that this individual might… misuse such a staff. The resulting disaster would reflect quite poorly on everyone involved. Are you following me?" Enthir asked

"What's your point?"

"You're not very good at this are you?"

"Not very."

"Look, I traded a staff to someone and found out later that was a bad idea. So, I'ld like the staff back. Understand now?"

The situation was all too familiar to Cymbeline as a smile plastered itself back on her face.

"Don't you worry. I'll get that staff back for you, but you have to hold up your end of the bargain."

"I will. I look forward to having it back soon. The sooner, the better, in fact." With that, Cymbeline turned and left the Hall of Attainment, stopping in her old room to pick up a satchel of supplies she would need for the journey. Enthir had given her the location on a small note that seemed heavy in her pocket as she trudged through the blinding snow storm, off the College Bridge and through Winterhold onto the road, finding herself three days later facing the gaping maw of Southfringe Sanctum, a dead SpellSword at her back, shards of ice sticking out of his corpse.

"This'll be fun." She grinned as she skipped into the cave, magic flowing through her very being.

* * *

Hardly two hours had passed when Cymbeline exited the cave with a sigh, the staff Enthir had asked her to retrieve gripped in her hands as she embarked on her return to the College.

Returning to the College was quicker than she had hoped, finding Enthir in his room she thrusted the staff into his hands, tired and battle weary.

"Pleasure doing business with you." Enthir huffed as he dropped the amulet into her outstretched hand, it was a simple gold amulet, but it was important to Onmund.

Walking down the stairs she turned into Onmund's room, finding him sitting in the chair by the corner, a book in his hands.

"Hello." Cymbeline greeted in a sing-song voice, managing a smile through her exhaustion and grabbing Onmund's hand and extended her own, dropping the amulet onto the palm of his hand as her smile grew wider.

"Now don't loose it again."

"Ha! I didn't think he'd really give it back." Onmund cried in surprise, voice shaking with tears as he pulled the Imperial into a tight hug "Thank you Cymbeline, it's good to know I can count on you."

They may have lingered a few seconds longer than either of them thought, but it didn't matter, it would be one of the many times they were in this sort of embrace.

* * *

**And chapter three is up! I hope you guys are enjoying this so far and hope to see your feed back! With that I'll see you guys all on Wednesday in the next chapter!**


	4. Wabbajack

Spiderwebs, dusty old furniture and an eerie silence were what the Pelagius Wing greeted Onmund with as Cymbeline closed the ornate door leading to the remainder of the Blue Palace behind her. Moonlight shone through the dusty windows and cast long shadows across the ground, the two mages should have been sound asleep in their beds at the Winking Skeever, not snooping around the Blue Palace, especially not in a forbidden wing with an old hipbone and the word of a possible mad man to guide them. They were lucky the guards were switching shifts.

"I don't like where this is going." Onmund commented as he trailed after the Imperial, her eyes wide with astonishment at the familiar architecture that lined the halls of the Blue Palace.

"It's pretty, but the White Gold Tower…." She breathed, trailing off as she plodded up a staircase.

"Reminds me of-" Cymbeline started, only to halt mid sentence and fall silent, Onmund was about to make a comment, but when he looked up he found that he was alone. Standing in the middle of a corridor with the lingering affects of powerful magic, unlike anything he had felt, not even the Eye of Magnus could compare to the power and _madness_ he had felt.

"Cymbeline?" Onmund called, raising his voice and looking around. No response. He opened the nearest door, nothing but cobwebs and old furniture.

_Where could she have gone?_

* * *

Onmund searched the whole Pelagius Wing for a shred of evidence as to where his companion could have gone. Nothing turned up as the moonlight started to fade away and the suns light began to peak over the horizon, setting the wing ablaze with a pale blue light. The Nord mage had returned to the corridor, dark circles under his eyes from the lack of sleep, panic welling in his chest from two things. What if she never returned? What if he was discovered? The Blue Palace was just starting to wake up after all.

With his hope of finding his missing friend diminishing, Onmund was taken off guard when Cymbeline suddenly appeared, stumbling back and losing her balance, an odd staff in her hands. Onmund quickly reached out and caught her, she was heavier than she looked, but he held her up none the less as the Imperial regained her footing and stood fully.

"Well, okay, that was fun!" She commented cheerfully, a smile on her face as Onmund sighed in relief. At least she was her usual self.

The two mages left Solitude minutes later, back on the road to the College. Cymbeline's staff was a curious one, it having changed a cave bear that was barreling towards them into a harmless chicken.

Onmund guessed it would be one of the many times Cymbeline would travel with an odd item, that was just her way.

* * *

**Short chapter, but the next one will be longer. Reviews are widely accepted and much appreciated, if possible drop one own below and I'll see you guys next time!**


	5. Enchantments & Sweet rolls

The day was young as both mages left Winterhold, a bright smile plastered across the Imperial's face as she adjusted the leather bound war axe slung across her back. Her Nordic friend in tow, she took the first step into the white snow that crunched under her feet and stuck to the bottom of her boot.

"Its so great to get out again! Back on the road with a mission to accomplish! Right Onmund?" Cymbeline asked quickly, clouds of warm breath escaping as she fell into her usual stride with an extra bounce. Onmund gave a simple nod, keeping an eye on the enchanted war axe they were to deliver to Windhelm. Enchanting services where one of the few things keeping the college in contact with the rest of Skyrim, it wasn't uncommon for the Arc Mage to go and deliver enchanted items, nor was it uncommon for her to bring the Nord Mage along.

Communication between them was little as Cymbeline struggled with staying on her feet in the slick snow of Winterhold's mountains, clinging onto the metallic twisted staff she carried with her. Onmund always found the staff captivating, from its odd other-wordly craftsmanship down to its absurd ability to change a living creature into something else. Several times he had seen the staff turn a Dwarven Centurion into a measly pile of gold coins and icy cold ectoplasm, or change a raging bear into a sweet roll. However the staff seemed to not only change enemies into bizarre items, but into other foes that could be more fearsome than the last, which was odd to the mage, warranting him to ask Cymbeline for further analysis.

* * *

Windhelm came quicker than Onmund had thought, a blizzard already rolling in as they passed through the front gates, the sun was dipping below the horizon as the two mages ducked into the nearby CandleHearth Hall, the wall of warm air hitting them with all the force of a giant's foot falls. The College was somewhat warm, they still found ice inside the Hall of Attainment some mornings, but nothing could compare to the warmth of a well kept inn and a belly full of mead.

By the time the two had turned in for the night, Cymbeline sported a light tinge to her cheeks, stumbling slightly and walking into Onmund several times on their way back to their room. Just to their luck, it was a single bedded room.

Cymbeline got in bed first, falling asleep before her head hit the pillow, she only had one or two mugs of nordic mead, but then again she was from Cyrodiil and they mainly had fine wines. Onmund followed in suite after her, pulling a thick and heavy fur over them as the blizzard howled outside, the muddled sounds of metal mugs clinking and songs being sung rang through the inn became distant as Onmund closed his eyes and let sleep claim him.

* * *

Morning rose and Cymbeline was already up, running her fingers through her hair and braiding it back, drawing her hood over it just as Onmund stirred awake. The smell of freshly baked bread and the sound of liquids sloshing over the rim of a mug were what greeted Onmund as he cracked his eyes open and looked up at the Imperial that stood nearby, currently focused on charging her staff with a soul gem. A plate of food rested on the night stand next to the bed, flickering in the candle light as the Nord pushed himself up, his Imperial companion looking up from her staff to great him with a smile.

"Good morning sleepy head!" She chimed, Onmund noticing a potion of health next to her, uncorked and empty. Well that explained why she wasn't having a hang over.

The blizzard had pass and the sun now shone down on the icy streets of Windhelm, the two Mages having stepped out of CandleHearth Hall and making their way to their client, a blacksmith named Oengul. The package was dropped off and a coin purse was handed to Cymbeline as they left the city, a fresh blanket of snow was whipping over the edges of the bridge, cascading down into the icy river below.

* * *

The sun was high over head when the two mages ran into a pair of snow bears, instantly Cymbeline drew out her staff and released a conjuration spell, stones levitated in the air, connected by bolts of lightning as a low moan and hum came from the creature that faintly resembled a man. A storm atronach.

Onmund raised his hands, sparks crackling in his palms as Cymbeline backed up, lifting her staff as a ball of red energy gathered at the top. He released a bolt of lightning from the palm of his hands, magicka freely flowing out and skittering along the ground until it found its mark, the nearest snow bear. Its pelt became scared with a streak of black as the lightning bolt flickered out of existence, Onmund already holding another spell and casting it as the atronach dispatched the other bear.

There was a whoosh of magic as the red ball of energy from Cymbeline's staff collided into the side of the snow bear, a red smoke enveloped the bear as sparks flew away, carried on the wind. A loud booming voice echoed towards them as an armored Dremora stood in place of the bear, its blood red skin already hissing as flakes of snow drifted onto it. A sword was raised as another bolt of energy flew towards it, the red smoke appeared again, only this time the Dremora was now a skin and bones wolf. Of which Onmund dispatched quickly with a final bolt of lightning, but Cymbeline had another idea to cast with her staff again. The wolf had been blasted back, and the orb of energy had bounced back towards the staff that had casted it.

Cymbeline cried out as she dropped the staff, holding her hand as a burn settled on the surface of her hand, her staff skittering out of the smoke and becoming a sweet roll that rolled towards the cliffs edge.

"Oh no no no no no!" Cymbeline cried as she dropped her bag into the snow, racing after the staff-turned-sweet roll, her heavy cloaks billowing out behind her as she untied them and let them fall behind her. Onmund raced to catch up as she lunged for the sweet roll, managing to wrap her hands around it just as she fell over the cliff edge. A scream escaped her lips as she plummeted towards the Ghost Sea, the icy waters crashing against the shore as Onmund watched from the cliffs edge as Cymbeline crashed into the water, clothes weighing her down as she sunk deeper into the sea.

Onmund raced back to her pack, drawing out a long rope she usually kept with her and a sword they had picked up from their travels. He ran back to the cliff edge, tying the rope around his waist and the sword's hilt, knotting it tightly as he stabbed it into the ground almost to the hilt. The Nord took a deep breath and sprinted forewords, leaping over the cliffs with his arms extended as he crashed into the surface of the churning waters. Opening his eyes, Onmund could hardly see through the dark blurry water, Cymbeline was only seen by her hair and the gleam of an enchanted amulet.

He pushed against the icy water that stabbed at him as he swam down towards the Imperial, wrapping an arm around her waist as she clung to her staff, the water having changed it back on impact, her eyes were wider than dinner plates as bubbles of air escaped from her mouth. Onmund almost let go of the breath he was holding as he pulled her to the surface, clinging to the rope leading to the cliffs edge he dragged himself and Cymbeline onto the dark shores. Both of them were drenched from head to toe and the frozen air was already causing their clothing to freeze up. The Nord gathered scrap wood from a ship wreck, casting a fireball at it as the wood erupted in flames. He turned Cymbeline onto her back, casting a healing spell at her as magicka pulled at Onmund's energy, he prayed it would work, the College couldn't afford loosing another Arch-Mage.

Luck was on his side as Cymbeline gasped for air, coughing up a mouthful of water as her entire body shook, her robes clinging to her skin as her hair dripped with water. Onmund breathing a sigh of relief as he went and gathered their belongings from the cliff, keeping himself from freezing with a flame cloak, sure it made things harder to see, but it was better than dying.

* * *

He returned to find that Cymbeline had moved their fire further back into a small alcove in the cliff side, stripping off her clothes and laying them out to dry she shivered by the fire, her back turned to him as her staff laid propped against the cliff wall. Walking up behind her, Onmund draped one of her cloaks over her shoulders, his flame cloak dispersing at that moment as he sat across from the Imperial who looked up at him.

"Take off your clothes."

"What?" Onmund asked quickly, heat rising to his face as Cymbeline frowned and pulled another cloak around her.

"You were in the water too, now take them off." She reasoned, motioning towards her robes, turning her head away slightly, "I wont look." A red hue had settled on her cheeks, unlike the one from her mead buzz the night before.

Onmund carefully pealed his robes off, laying them out to dry and retrieving a sleep roll from his pack, wrapping himself in the sewn together furs as their fire crackled, being restocked by the two of them progressively until the sun had dipped below the horizon and they had a sufficient amount of wood to last them through the night.

When night fell, a chill settled around them, reaching through their blankets and furs to ghost over their exposed skin. It was Onmund who suggested they combined sleep rolls with their cloaks and shared a bed that night, Cymbeline said nothing but stood and walked towards him, laying down in their shared bedroll, her face inches from his chest as warm breath tickled his skin.

The two mages slept easy that night, returning to the College the next morning and resuming business as usual, suddenly finding it more comfortable to sleep near each other than ever.

It was many of the whimsical stories added to Cymbeline's name, and one of the many times the two would share a bed.

* * *

**Long chapter, this is actually my favorite chapter to write out of everything so far.  
Reviews are gladly accepted and wildly appreciated to help improve the quality of the fanfic, with that being said, I will see you guys in the next chapter!**


	6. Books & Dragons

Cymbeline had left Onmund standing and staring after her as she began her ascension up the seven thousand steps to High Hrothgar, her head hung low as she used her staff to support her. The sun was high over head and clouds billowed across the sky, it would have been great to travel with a companion or even just lay out in the sunlight, but there was no time to dawdle in a field, no companion to talk with, just Onmund by himself as he made his way back to the College.

Dragonborn.

He just couldn't wrap his head around it, Cymbeline, his friend and the Arch Mage, was the Dragonborn. Even having been there and watching her pull a dragon's soul into her body, the ethereal glow consuming her and vanishing as she was left winded and in shock, it was difficult for the Nord to understand. As they made their way back to Whiterun, the Grey Beards summoned the Dovakiin, their voices quaking through the air and their summons traveling long and far. It was then Cymbeline turned a quizzical expression to Onmund and asked him.

"What's a Dovakiin?"

Onmund had explained to her that the Dragonborn could devour dragon souls and could naturally use a shout, her face grew pale as her grip around her staff tightened. The Nord had never seen her like that before, but it only got worse as the two made headway for Ivarstead at the base of the seven thousand steps.

The two mages had run into a dragon just outside the small settlement, Onmund fought harder than he had with the other dragon, having known what to do, but he couldn't help but notice his Imperial companion holding back as if hesitant to what she knew would happen.

Onmund found himself on the forest floor, having tripped over a fallen tree, the dragon loomed over him, opening its gaping maw to breath fire.

"FUS!"

A force rippled through the air, snapping the dragon's head to the side as an ice spike embedded itself deep in its thick hide. The dragon cried out its last words before it fell limp, its skin peeling away in burning flakes as its soul swept from its body, flowing through the air and towards Cymbeline, whom stood hunched over and supporting herself on a nearby tree.

* * *

They were silent until they made it to the bridge leading to the seven thousand steps, that was when Cymbeline turned towards Onmund with a grim look on her face, her lips pressed thin as she looked up at him.

"I think its time we parted ways."

"W-what?" Onmund stuttered, knocked back by her words, her free hand balled into a fist as she took another breath.

"I need to be by myself for a while." She whispered, loud enough for Onmund to hear.

"Do you want me to wait at the Inn?"

"Go back to the College."

"Is something wrong?" Onmund asked, reaching out to put a hand on her shoulder, she looked up at him and shoved his hand away, stepping back and crossing her arms.

"Just go!" She shouted, tears brimming on the corners of her eyes as Onmund's hand fell back to his side.

"Alright. If you need me… you know where to find me."

* * *

And Cymbeline was far behind Onmund soon as he made way towards Riften, he hoped to get a carriage outside the city that could take him back to Winterhold.

The Nord mage found himself looking to the skies constantly or looking back at the Throat of the World as it steadily grew further and further away, silently wondering if it wasn't too late and that he could still run back to Ivarstead, run up the steps and rejoin Cymbeline. Those thoughts were pushed out of his mind as the autumnal forest passed, it began to rain when Riften came into view, luckily there was a carriage left, its driver pulling a thick fur around his body and his horse fidgeting in its place, tossing its head as Onmund approached.

"Going to Winterhold?" The carriage driver asked, looking down at the Nord mage as he nodded and handed the driver a small bag of gold coins, "Hop in back and we'll be off."

Onmund did just that, settling in the back of the carriage and watching as the forest began to pass again.

"Ever been to WInterhold? Heard the college has a new Arch Mage." The carriage driver tried to make a conversation as Onmund nodded, his arms rested on his knees as he kept his eyes to the carriage floor.

* * *

Soon the familiar snow drifts of Winterhold came and passed as the sun dipped below the horizon and the stars came out, the two moons full and shining down brightly as lights danced overhead. Onmund wondered what Cymbeline was doing, was she still climbing the steps? Or was she already with the Grey Beards and getting ready to sleep? Or was she dead, killed by an ice wraith, or having slipped on an icy patch? Onmund pushed those thoughts out of his mind, Cymbeline could handle herself.

The College of Winterhold was quite without the Arch Mage making conversation, the days seemed to pass by, turning into weeks, into months. The Nord distracted himself with the books in the Arcanaeum, trying to find every bit of information on previous dragonborns as he could, dragons that vanished during the dragon wars hundreds of years ago. There was little word from their Imperial Arch Mage, save for a letter that appeared every other week and rumors that floated around about a dragon attacking Kynsegrove, it was hard to believe six months had passed since she left.

"Hey, Onmund. Wake up." Urag gro-Shub nudged the Nord's shoulder roughly, jolting the younger man awake as he lifted his head off his arms and looked up at the old Orc mage. Urag had begun to treat Onmund on more friendly terms, the two having spent a lot of time together as Onmund practically devoted himself to his research and required materials for reading.

He had been sleeping in the Arcanaeum more often as of recent, and the Orsmir was beginning to worry for his health.

"I need you to find a book for me." The orc stated, scrawling down a location and the book he was looking for on a note and handing it to Onmund.

Souls, Black and White.

"Usually I'd give that to the Arch Mage since she visited often, but it doesn't look like she'll be coming back soon."

* * *

The Nord mage soon found himself deep into Eastmarch, the note guiding him towards Cronvangr Cave as he look at his map again, a mill was nearby and should have been appearing over the horizon at any given moment. The mill came into sight over the top of a hill, across the dark river cutting through the ground before it. Onmund's blood ran cold when he heard the familiar thunderous screech of a dragon tear through the air, he could hear people shouting, fire sputtering across the ground and then, she came.

Her voice tore through the air, pushing the dragon back as flakes of ice formed on its scales, shaking it off, the dragon turned onto the source of the Thu'um, but by that time, Onmund was already upon it. A bolt of lightning skittered from his hand and crashed into the dragons side, but it wasn't enough as the dragon then turned to Onmund. All of a sudden, a red orb of energy flew towards the dragon and engulfed it in a red smoke as the energy exploded against its skin.

The dragon let out a gurgled cry as it fell to the ground, dead, its skin peeling away like before as its soul went into the Imperial that stood there.

"That still smarts…." She huffed, gathering an armful of the dragon's scales as they fell to the ground, looking up she gasped, the scales falling from her arms as Cymbeline just stared at Onmund.

"Thank you." She quickly said, still to surprised to move but looked at the dragon's skeleton.

"This one was a challenge to track down, had me after him way up the road." Cymbeline added with a smile, to which Onmund let out a breath he had been holding.

"So what brings you out to Eastmarch?"

"Book hunting."

"I see…. Well, I'm sure the book you're looking for will pop up!" Cymbeline commented, stepping closer to look at the small note in Onmund's hand.

"The location is actually behind us."

"Oh. Oh okay! What are we waiting for! Lets go!"

Onmund didn't mind that there were frostbite spiders or even vampires in Cronvangr Cave, nor did he mind that they had traveled through the night back to the college.

Cymbeline returned, and it was one of the times she would return.

* * *

**New chapter! They're starting to get longer and longer as we go along. Anyways, reviews are always appreciated and accepted so drop one down below and I'll see you guys next chapter!**


	7. Throat of the World

"Onmund?" Cymbeline asked, leaning on the stone arch that led to his room, her arms were crossed and a thick heavy cloak hung around her shoulders. The mage in question looked up from the book he had been reading, closing said book and setting it to the side.

"What is it?"

Cymbeline said nothing, only looking away, taking a deep breath.

"Come to the Throat of the World with me."

"What?"

"I said, come to the Throat of the World with me." Cymbeline repeated, her usual smile was gone, replaced by a grim expression. It was out of character for her, normally when she'd ask Onmund to come with her, she'd ask it in her own special way, be it a scroll of paper in a potion bottle left on his desk or a set of scorch marks in the snow outside.

"Okay?" Onmund said, confused, why would she want him to come to the Throat of the World with her? Before anything else had been said, a set of heavy armor had been placed in his arms, Cymbeline's cloak shifting to slightly reveal an odd type of armor Onmund had never seen before.

"Put that on please."

Onmund looked at the armor handed to him, no doubt it was heavy and took a lot of time and work to forge, something was off about the material, it was unlike any metal he had seen and so was the armor. He let a hand rest on the chest piece of the armor and knew what it was. Dragon bone. Looking at Cymbeline whom had turned her back, Onmund could see the dull glint of dragon scales on her backside when her cloak dipped slightly.

Putting on the armor took little time, Onmund was amazed at how thick and heavy dragon bones could be, but how light they were as well, when he had been helping Cymbeline lug back dragon bones they were heavy and difficult to carry, but it had been worth it.

"Done then? Lets go, we have a lot of traveling to do."

* * *

Cymbeline had changed, and Onmund was beginning to notice, the way her stride had taken a powerful air, how she no longer lost her footing in the icy snow. Her jolly nature had fallen away into a battle hardened one, it scared the mage to tell the truth, he had secretly loved her joyfulness and easy going attitude, but to see it gone he feared the old Cymbeline would never return.

There was something else that was odd about the Imperial, a large scroll slung across her back, an Elder Scroll, when and where she had gotten her hands on it, Onmund had yet to know. Something big was going to happen and Cymbeline was taking every precaution to either stop or prevent it.

The Throat of the World soon loomed over head, an eerie feeling had fallen over Ivarstead as Cymbeline moved forewords across the bridge, they hadn't run into a single dragon on their way to the small settlement and that was unsettling enough to warrant the mage to keep an eye on the skies all the way there. With a short sigh, Onmund followed her across the bridge and began his first time assent of the seven thousand steps.

Icy winds ghosted over the steps as Cymbeline guided him up and up, turning this way and that, the sun was not quite setting but not quite over head, clouds were swirling overhead as an immense power that Onmund had felt with the Eye of Magnus, fell over the two mages.

High Hrothgar stood before them, an offering chest at the front and two staircases curving up the sides of the ancient building.

"Lets go." Cymbeline nodded, guiding the man inside where warmth washed over him like a blanket. The interior of High Hrothgar was almost completely consisting of carved stones, old rugs had been laid across the ground, faded and worn from years of treading. Fires crackled and wind whistled outside the walls of the ancient building. Cymbeline had grabbed his hand by then, entwining her fingers in his own and giving him a quick squeeze before tugging his arm and guiding him through the ancient building to the large ornate doors on the other side of the building. Passing a group of men dressed in grey scaled robes, meditating on their knees as Onmund watched in awe. The Grey Beards.

Soon the chilling winds of Skyrim returned, snow crunching under his boots and a swirling storm high above them, the cries of dragons tore through the air as Cymbeline steeled herself, still holding Onmund's hand in a vice like grip.

"Cymbeline?" Onmund asked as he looked over at the mentioned Imperial, her eyes finally broke their straight forwards gaze. A false smile on her face as she looked at him, hand falling away.

"Its just…" She trailed off, looking towards the Throat of the World "This is going to be the end, I'm afraid truthfully… I don't know what will happen to us up there Onmund, but what ever happens." Cymbeline shuddered "_Catch me when I fall_."

* * *

Onmund was generally confused for a moment, what did she mean by 'catch me when I fall'? Did she really think she was going to die?

He found himself treading across the courtyard and up towards the mountain path leading up, only to find it was blocked by a powerful gust of wind and icy snow pelting the edges of the arc that marked the start.

"LOK, VAH, KOOR!" Cymbeline shouted, her voice cutting through the wind and dispersing the small storm as she stumbled back slightly, Onmund instantly reaching out a hand to grab her shoulder.

"We don't have much time, we need to keep moving." Cymbeline breathed, pushing forwards and up the mountain side, occasionally using her shout again and again to clear more clouds of frozen fog or strong drifts of wind. Onmund was there to put a hand on her back to steady her, or catch her if she slipped, which was rarely now, but she had broken into a shiver that was more from the cold than from her fear. He pulled her arm towards him and dug through his pack, withdrawing a cloak he had taken to keeping on him just for her. Draping the cloak over her shoulders Onmund chose to ignore the flush that was spreading across her cheeks, drawing away they continued up the mountain, the sun was gone from the sky as they neared the swirling storm. With a single word, Cymbeline had cleared away the last dervish of wind and they were faced with a clearing, and a dragon with white-green scales awaited them, lifting its head to look at Cymbeline and nod at the Elder Scroll on her back.

"It's okay, he's a friend." Cymbeline explained over her shoulder to Onmund as she began to walk towards the dragon, pulling the Elder Scroll off her back and motioning for the nord mage to follow her.

* * *

Too stunned to hear the words the dragon spoke to Cymbeline, Onmund simply looked around him, a word wall stood nearby, the carved stone empty and vacant from the ethereal glow that would seep into Cymbeline's very being, were he Dragonborn, he would have been able to hear the chanting that often drew Cymbeline towards these walls of lost words.

He snapped out of his trance when Cymbeline stood before the word wall, the Elder Scroll clutched tightly in her hands as she took a deep breath and slowly unfurled the scroll. Onmund shot out a hand towards her, trying to warn her of its fabled powerful magic that would drive her insane, or blind her. But words did not escape his mouth, before he could speak the white scaled dragon had halted him with a turn of its head. Cymbeline's body had vanished like a piece of parchment, burning from the edges in an otherworldly flame.

* * *

Onmund waited for her to come back, standing before the word wall and occasionally pacing to and from. The dragon watching him with golden eyes until a terrifying shout tore through the air, shuddering the very ground beneath Onmund's feet as he pulled out a bow gifted to him by his companion, and readied an arrow. He would protect her to the end.

Just as Alduin was beginning to appear, Onmund noticed an ethereal glow at his right, Cymbeline was returning, her body slowly becoming into existence as she stumbled back and gasped for air, taking in shuddering breaths before pushing herself up with the sword named 'Dragon Bane' at her waist. She drew the sword, lightning crackling around the blade as she glanced over at Onmund.

"Lets put this beast down Onmund!"

"Right behind you!" Onmund called to her over another screech as Cymbeline looked up towards the black dragon that flew over head.

"This is the end, Alduin." Cymbeline hissed, her grip around Dragon Bane tightening as she called up a storm atronach, the sun at her back and her companion at her side she felt terror, courage and something warm in her chest all at once, she had to win this.

Alduin spoke to her in his native tongue, a language neither human could understand.

"My belly is filled with the souls of your fellow mortals, Dovahkiin." Alduin taunted as Cymbeline braced herself, steeling her emotions, she needed to find an opening.

"Die now and await your fait in Sovengarde!"

"Lost funt, you are too late Alduin!" Paarthunax called, rising into the sky "Dovahkiin! Use Dragonrend, if you know it!"

"Onmund cover me!" Cymbeline shouted as she nodded towards Paarthunax, the swirling storm above them had erupted into a storm of fire raining down upon them.

Onmund could hardly see Cymbeline through the smoke and snow that billowed all around him, he could hear her shouts and eventually found her locked in combat against Alduin, Dragon Bane skittering and dragging across the black scales, foul black blood dripping into the snow as she backed away as fire engulfed her.

"Cymbeline!" Onmund shouted, running towards her as Alduin took off again, Cymbeline was in bad condition, breathing heavily and conjuring up a healing spell to return to the battle.

"I'm fine. We need to focus on Alduin!" Cymbeline grunted, standing up and shouting once more at Alduin, an ethereal blue light emitting from him as he came crashing into the mountain side, skidding through the snow towards them as Cymbeline readied her sword, Onmund readied a spell.

It was over before Onmund knew it, but instead of Alduin dissolving into a cloud of smoke and embers, instead of his soul sweeping into Cymbeline's body, the dragon sat there hunched over, glaring into Cymbeline with blood red eyes.

"You cannot prevail against me.." Alduin breathed raggedly "I will outlast you… Mortal!" With that he took off, flying away from them as Cymbeline tried to pursue him.

"Coward! Come back and face me!" Cymbeline howled, running towards the direction Alduin was quickly flying towards, Paarthunax soared overhead, landing on an out cropping of rocks just as Cymbeline tried to send another shout towards Alduin, but her footing slipped and she tumbled into the snow, Onmund chasing after her and pulling her out of the icy cold snow. She coughed slightly, covering her mouth and taking ragged breaths as Onmund dug through his pack for a potion of health. She was battled worn, her armor dented and bloodied, cloaks torn apart and barely covering her shoulders, her hair had come undone, falling around her shoulders. The taste of iron in her mouth was washed out by a healing potion as she gazed up at Paarthunax weakly, leaning against Onmund for support.

"Where did he go?" She seethed.

* * *

**I feel it's a bit rushed, but it was an interesting chapter to write. Reviews are gladly appreciated and I'll see you all next time!**


	8. Getting to Know You

The carriage rattled down the cobble stone roads towards Whiterun, Cymbeline and Onmund sat in the back, recovering from the battle atop the Throat of the World. Both mages were worn down, armor dented and anger stirring in the Imperial as she sat there in silence, her throat felt scratchy and the taste of copper wasn't too far off.

"You know I've been thinking." Onmund began, catching Cymbeline's attention as she looked up "Why did you leave Cyrodiil? I mean, Skyrim's in civil war, why come here?"

Cymbeline thought for a moment, why did she leave Cyrodiil?

"Cyrodiil is all politics and little magic," Cymbeline explained with a light smile, the happy memories of Cyrodiil replaying in her head "Here in Skyrim, I don't have to worry about politics at the College. I can practice magic on my own without an entire council watching my every movement."

"I… see…. was there anything else?" Onmund inquired while the happy memories of the Imperial Homeland fell away in Cymbeline's mind, a frown on her face.

"No, there isn't another reason." She managed out through gritted teeth, trying her best to avoid the other reason.

The rest of the carriage ride was silent as Cymbeline silently remembered the day before leaving Bravil for Skyrim.

* * *

_Everything was packed and ready, food that would last till she got to Skyrim, enough potions to heal her and more than enough scrolls of parchment and sticks of charcoal with quills to last her for a long while._

_Looking around her room in her Aunt and Uncle's home in Bravil, Cymbeline could remember all the nights she spent wide awake, pouring over tomes of magic spells and usage, writing letters and in her diary until her wrist hurt, practicing simple candlelight spells or conjuring bound swords until she'd collapse into her bed and sleep until the sun was high overhead._

_Her room was proof of handwork and dedication…. and distraction._

_She quickly shook the idea out of her mind, the sounds of her aunt and uncle shuffling down below rose to her ears, their hushed whispers were difficult for Cymbeline to hear, but she knew what they were talking about, her and her leaving._

_She was bound to leave before the sun rose, before anyone in the once ill reputed town arose for the morning. Bound to get on the road towards the Imperial City and from there to Skyrim, where she would have to trek across the unknown land to the College of Winterhold, if she got in, she'd be staying there for a few years and then coming back, from what Cymbeline had heard through rumors. Skyrim was in a civil war, one she would not be interested in going through when it overflowed into a full blown war with the rest of Tamriel, but that was only if it overflowed. She had full faith in the Legion to put an end to the madness._

_The border of Skyrim was unattended, a simple large wooden gate was built into the mountain pass, with the White Gold Tower behind her, Cymbeline took one last look back at her homeland._

_If only her parents could see her now._

* * *

The carriage pulled to a stop just outside of Whiterun, scrambling to her feet, Cymbeline made a bee line for Dragonsreach, there was work to be done, a dragon to be killed and one of the times Onmund would get to know her. Even if it was little by little.

* * *

**Short chapter, but a glimpse into Cymbeline's past, there's more to come in later chapters. Reviews are greatly accepted and I'll see you guys next time.**


	9. And He Waited

**_-Onmund's POV-_**

And she was gone, Cymbeline and the dragon she rode on were becoming small shadows on the horizon as they left Dragonsreach behind. There was little rest between the battle with Alduin and the capture of Odahviing, and we were exhausted by the time we had reached Dragonsreach, but she had insisted.

And now she was gone.

And would be gone for quite a while.

* * *

_**-Regular POV-**_

Night had fallen over Dragonsreach, many of the guards had turned in for the night, others going to patrols and some coming in from said patrols. Even the Jarl, determined as he might be to see the Dragonborn arrive back safely, had turned in for the night with an order to wake him the moment she came into view.

Onmund himself had set up before the dragon's trap, an extra bed roll set up across from him, her bedroll.

The lights in the sky that night were beautiful to say the least, the stars twinkled behind their multi-colored veil and the twin moons were waning, not a cloud in the sky and the wind was kind. It seemed that Skyrim had unwound for a while, relaxed, gone quite.

It was too quite for Onmund.

He had gotten used to Cymbeline's lacking presence at the College, gotten used to the silence that had accompanied the moment she left without him, but this time it was different. She had slipped away, there was no chipper tone, no joking remark or forgetfulness on making healing potions, no loss of footing in the icy slopes. And it scared Onmund into staying awake, waiting for her.

He would wait for her, Sovengarde and back.

His eye lids started to droop, the torch light would become blurry and then Onmund would shake himself awake, try to concentrate on the book in his lap, and then repeat the whole cycle.

The night was late, the Nord could no longer see the moons or the lights that danced over head, nor could he hear the cries of dragons, or the ripples of shouts.

With the night growing longer and longer, Onmund's head did eventually dip, his eyes did eventually close, and he did eventually got to sleep.

* * *

"Done, and done."

Onmund awoke with a start. He heard her, he knew it.

He sat up quickly, searching for the copper haired Imperial, the smell of burnt flesh and blood was present in the air as the mage stumbled to his feet and reached for his pack, a spell already forming in the palm of his left hand, ready to patch her up.

Cymbeline stood there, Dragonsbane loosely hanging off her side, black blood dripping off the hilt and onto the ground, her cloak had been torn to pieces, charred and dirtied. Hair messy, dirt covering her face and blood caking her arms, Onmund relaxed, but not at this, but at the bright fire that had ignited in her eyes.

He knew that fire.

She was back.

And he waited for her.

* * *

**Lordy lordy, how did it ever come to this. I'm really sorry I missed two updates in a row, things are getting a little hectic around here and I'm either stressing over and audition later this month, or getting distracted, but hopefully with today's triple update we'll be back on the trail!  
So without further ado!  
Reviews are welcomed!  
Here's to seeing you in the next two chapters in this special update!**


	10. Marriage

Cymbeline curled beneath the heavy blankets and furs that occupied the master bed in Breezehome, her home, she had been sleeping for near three days now. The battle with Alduin having worn her down, and the flight back completely wiping her energy. She wasn't injured, there weren't any new scars luckily, but she had come back with a drained sword and a near falling apart set of armor.

The moment she had entered her new home, she had practically made a bee line for the upstairs, tossing off armor pieces left and right until finally she collapsed onto the bed, burrowed under the covers, and immediately went to sleep.

It was comical to Onmund, but warranted concern for her health, and got him thinking.

* * *

The three days she had rested had gotten her thinking, things were starting to settle down in Skyrim, despite a ragging civil war starting up again the moment news of Alduin's slaying had reached both Imperial and Stormcloak ears.

She found it so, idle and political.

The exact reasons she had left Cyrodiil in the first place.

But Skyrim did have a rustic charm and was no where near as tightly kept, enough to warrant the Imperial Dragonborn to consider settling down.

The thought had never crossed her mind before, Nordic tradition was much different than Imperialistic traditions, she had learned of what they called marriage, how they simply wore an amulet to show their eligibility.

If only she could remember the name of that blasted amulet.

What was it called again?

Something related to a god… Shor?

* * *

The name hit Cymbeline in the middle of the night, sitting up and tossing covers over her lap, a smile on her face.

"Mara!" She triumphantly stated, rolling off the bed side and prying the lid of the chest nearby open, digging through the contents for the Amulet of Mara she had picked up on a whim.

Holding the amulet above her head, the Imperial was quick to slip it around her neck and crawl back into bed, she'd muse it over tomorrow.

Was it really the right decision?

* * *

Onmund had been thinking, having returned to the College and delving back into his studies. He often found himself wandering off into a different topic, it was no lie that he wore an Amulet of Mara secretly under his robes, but there was never a time or the right person for him to pull it over and let the Amulet fall against his chest.

With dragons slowly decreasing, Onmund was finding that Cymbeline was spending a lot of time at the College, having restarted her studies and going through them like wild fire.

Something was on both their minds.

They had both been thinking.

* * *

They had taken a walk, like they usually did, up the Hall of Attainment and out into the icy cold Winterhold air. There was no blizzard much to both mages relief, but a silence had befallen them as they walked across the roof top balcony towards a three sided stone enclosure, the College emblem carved through it.

"So I've been thinking." Cymbeline started with a breath, keeping her back to him and resting a hand on an amulet.

"Skyrim's not that bad of a place, with the dragons going and the College able to sustain itself, despite a war going on and three factions going into turmoil, or perhaps the discovery of the aetherium forge which is by far one of the most beautiful discoveries ever done in a life time. I mean, yeah sure return of dragons, that's cool I guess, but Dwemer history. Now that's something worth whi-"

"You're rambling again." Onmund quickly interrupted, Cymbeline did have a tendency to ramble when she was nervous. A trait he had seen during negotiations between the Stormcloaks and Imperial Legion.

"Oh! Was I? Sorry…. but no, I've been thinking. Maybe its time I settled down…. you know…. get married, maybe start a family…." She trailed off, turning around, an Amulet of Mara hanging from her neck "And I was thinking about asking you first."

Onmund was in shock, did she just ask him that?

"I-I… um…." He stuttered, trying to find words that could match the feeling welling in his chest.

"Onmund, will you marry me?" Cymbeline said shakily, a hesitant smile on her lips as Onmund relaxed, his own smile spreading across his face.

"Of course…. dear." He added after a pause, a red hue spreading across Cymbeline's face as she leapt into his arms in a tight embrace.

* * *

Days passed, Cymbeline found herself at the altar in Riften, it was a small ceremony, people they had helped arrived, it wasn't grand. There was no handcrafted dress, no bard playing in the corner, just her and Onmund.

The ceremony was short, simple and to the point, but it was also true to the newly wed couple as they locked their hands together, the twin rings on their fingers glinting in the moonlight as they stepped outside for an after party.

The night was spent with drinking, commerce and celebration. The two mages slipping off halfway through, making their way through the city and out the back gates, eventually coming to a small camp that had been set up. A large tent with a smoldering fire pit and lit candles inside, furs stacked atop one another for latter usage.

They spent the remainder of the night in each others arms, with gentle caresses and half coherent whispers of promises.

They were wed, and it was one of the times they would spend a night like that together.

* * *

**And chapter two in this special update is down!  
Just one more chapter and we'll be back on track.  
As stated before, reviews are gladly accepted. I'll see you guys in the next chapter. **


	11. Ashes and Books

Solstheim was much different from what either of the mages had heard, they had expected the mounds of ash and a town called Raven Rock, but they had not expected the ash to stand up and attack them, nor had they expected the first Dragonborn to meet the last Dragonborn.

Things happened.

And thats how they found themselves in the middle of a Daedric Prince's plane of Oblivion without a clue on how to get out. One moment they were trudging through the Ebony Mines in Raven Rock, the next thing they knew there was a black book that had apparently transferred them to this plane of Oblivion.

* * *

It was grotesque.

Befitting of the Daedric Prince, Hermaeus Mora, a green hue hung in the air, tentacles reached up for them from the inky black depths and book upon book were stacked upon each other in large columns, towering high overhead of the two mages. Truly, the Apocrypha made the Arcanaeum look like a ramshackle shack in the shadow of a grand tower, all the worlds knowledge and beyond. The plane seemed to go on endlessly and time seemed to pass…. or not, as there was no way to tell the time in this plane.

Onmund held Cymbeline's hand within his own, their fingers entwined as they traversed the labyrinth like Apocrypha, the floor beneath their feet made partially of what looked to be papers with words of a lost language written across them. Books they recognized and books that were new to the mages passed by as they searched for the exit. Running into a few of Mora's supporters along the way slowed their progress.

But there was a moment where Cymbeline stopped, crouched down and hesitantly picked up a book.

The book had a rich blue cover, unlike any Onmund had seen outside the highly secured books in the Arcanaeum, the book was old and battered and the pages were stained red.

Cymbeline had dealt with blood on her hands before, but the stains were too similar, the wear and tear was identical. Hesitantly, she flipped the cover open and almost dropped the book in utter shock.

For written beneath the title, in old black ink and chicken scratch writing, was her name.

_Corpse Preparation, Volume One: The Acquisition of the Corpse_

_Property of Cymbeline Fire-Weaver._

_4E 186, 16th Sun's Dusk._

She fell to her knees, clutching the book against her chest.

She had tried to bring them back, tried so hard it almost cost her dearly.

"Cymbeline?" Onmund asked cautiously, kneeling in front of her and resting a hand on her shoulder, concern riddled across his face.

And that's when the tears started falling.

"Love….." Onmund sighed, pulling her against his chest and holding her tightly, he had never seen the Imperial like this before, she never cried in front of him, sure there were some times her eyes brimmed with tears, but those tears never fell.

The Imperial shuddered through body racking sobs and gasping for breaths of air, the book in her arms falling to the ground, its word and diagram riddled pages beginning to blur with the onslaught of tears, reawakening old stains and smeared letters.

"I-I…." Cymbeline managed, wiping her eyes and shakily standing up, taking a deep breath she whipped a fire bolt at the book, the pages erupting into flames "Let's just get out of here."

* * *

Onmund was confused, and concerned for his wife, her outburst in the Apocrypha was strange to say the least, and quite a bit heart breaking for the Nord. There was something she wasn't telling him, ever since they got out of the Apocrypha she had become more distant, looking over her shoulder constantly and turning pale when the bodies of bandits piled up in front of them.

"I need to tell you something." She stated over the fire of their camp, the sky above ablaze with stars, "About why I left Cyrodiil."

"You left because of politics, right?" Onmund asked, poking one of the logs in their fire with a long stick, kicking embers into the air.

"That was only part of the reason."

And now he was intrigued.

"I hoped to never tell you this…. or anyone this for quite a long time.. but when we were in Apocrypha. I came across a piece of my past." Cymbeline began, pulling her legs to her chest.

"When I was eleven, my parents passed away from disease. I was alone, it would take my aunt and uncle a week to reach the Imperial City…."

"I was foolish, I wanted my parents back so much, I… may have…. no… I did things I'm not proud of."

"What did you do?" Onmund inquired, moving closer to the now shaking Imperial.

"Take a guess, I dabbled in Necromancy." She spat "I was young and foolish and lonely, I didn't understand death at that time and I tried to bring them back… but I failed and what I brought back, wasn't…. it wasn't human."

Cymbeline could remember it, standing over the grotesque masses of bone, marrow, blood and skin, black soul gems shattered along the ground and candles melted. An inhumane hiss of breath filled the family crypt of the Fire-Weavers, once one of the most well connected families in Cyrodiil, the eleven year old held the heavy book stained with blood from her fingertips. She was exhausted, mentally, magically, emotionally and physically.

It wasn't human what she brought back, but it didn't feel right to watch her parent's corpses, no matter how mutilated, burning with her own fires.

She must have passed out, because when she came to, Onmund was next to her with a hand tangled in her hair and another wrapped around her waist. Shifting slightly, Cymbeline halted her movements when Onmund's eyes cracked open and a small smile spread across her face.

"It's in the past right?"

"Yeah…."

Onmund didn't care what drove her to dabble in necromancy, or that she did try to bring someone back from the dead, he cared that she wasn't going to let her past run her life.

Cymbeline felt a weight lift from her shoulders, Onmund could always make her forget about her past, and it was one of the times he would comfort her.

* * *

**Woot! Back on schedule! Finally! The last chapter in our special triple update!  
So here we learned of the official reason why Cymbeline left Cyrodill.  
As always, Reviews are always welcomed and I'll see you guys next week!**


	12. The time she almost lost him

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

One moment they were walking, making the long trek back to Whiterun after being wrapped up in a local ceremony in Solitude, apparently having been revived by a new student at the Bards College. Come to think of it, she did have a pretty voice to sing ballads with, but that was besides the point.

The point was, Onmund's blood was on her hands.

Cymbeline was pressing down the wounds, to shocked to even muster up a spell to ease his pain, the bloodied dagger by her side, the remains of a poisson seeping into the ground.

The body of a Dark Brotherhood Assassin was not too far away, having been thrown into the cliff side by a rather furious Thu'um. Why Onmund would have a mark on his head was beyond the Imperial as she shakily withdrew her left hand for a moment to dig in her pouch.

"You are not dying you hear me." She hissed under her breath as she uncorked a potion bottle and dripped a portion of the contents onto the wound, pressing her hand over it again.

"Come on Onmund!" Cymbeline's breath hitched as she finally mustered up enough magic to cast a spell, the warm golden glow enveloping his body as Cymbeline felt the wound close up under her hand.

Blood stained the edges of her robes and Onmund's chest as the Imperial waited with baited breath, tears brimming in the corners of her eyes, for the Nord to draw in a breath.

A moment passed, and then another, with each passing second the Imperial grew paler in the face, shook more from anger at the Assassin, and clenched and unclenched her hands.

"You big dumb Nord! Wake up!" She cried, pounding her fist on his chest, conscious of his wounds despite them being closed up.

That seemed to have done it for the Nord, for seconds later his eyes snapped open and his body grew ridged as he gasped for lost breath. The Imperial wasted no time in throwing her arms around his shoulders, her heart racing, by the divines she almost lost him!

* * *

Onmund felt cold, unable to move a muscle and floating in what seemed an eternal void.

Faintly, he could hear Cymbeline and feel the searing pain across his abdomen subside as a warmth spread over him.

But the boney fingers of Sithis were dragging him down, deeper and deeper into the void.

And then a new pain found him, a harsh strike near his heart that rattled through his body.

At that moment Sithis seemed to have released him, and light shone over head.

The next thing he knew, Cymbeline had her arms around him tightly, the smell of blood ever present on her.

It was the time she almost lost him, and she would never forget it.

* * *

**And I'm back, on time for once!  
Anyways, double updates for the next two updates as the chapters kinda go hand in hand.  
Reviews are much appreciated and I'll see you in a little bit!**


	13. The time he almost lost her

They had ended up being dragged into the war, despite Cymbeline's best attempts at negotiations, both sides were still as stubborn as ever and had started their battles the moment Alduin had been slain.

Protecting Whiterun was of top priority to the two mages, not only was it their home, but it was a key location in Skyrim. If Whiterun was to be destroyed then much of Skyrim would fall into chaos without the central location of a trade hub.

* * *

Onmund braced himself, clad in his Dragonbone Armor, as the first wave of Stormcloaks approached the city, Cymbeline had gone ahead, prepared with her Wabbajack in one hand and a conjured sword in the other. Onmund could hardly see her copper hair, but he could see her and he hoped to see her after the battle, alive and well.

Behind him, the Harbringer skid to a stop, he was a wimpy looking Bosmer that wore the Companions armor, though it seemed a touch too big for him, but if what Onmund had heard was true, the Harbringer alone could win the battle.

Ulfric was insane to be sending his troops to Whiterun, fully knowing that the Dragonborn, her husband and the Companions where there. What was going through his head was beyond Onmund as the first wave of soldiers came into range.

* * *

Arrows blotted out what little remained of the open sky, raining down upon the Stormcloaks and taking out handfuls of troops. When the arrows ran dry, Onmund felt himself move forewords, conjuring a chain lightning spell and letting it jump from Stormcloak to Stormcloak.

Caught in the thick of battle, Onmund found himself back to back with Cymbeline, out of breath and bleeding from a cut above her eye.

"You okay?" She breathed, shuddering slightly as an arrow whizzed by her face, yanking her head back just in time.

"Still here." Onmund stated as he ducked beneath a steel claymore, sending fire into the soldiers chest.

* * *

Somehow, he and Cymbeline had been separated and Onmund found himself towards the back of his side, the Bosmer nearby, swinging madly with Wuuthrad, blood splaying up and caking the Bosmer's dark dreadlocks, and that's when the shouting started.

Stormcloaks were thrown into the air, the ripple of words remained as a portion of the wall collapsed, but yet the Thu'ums still occurred, igniting, freezing and tossing around the soldiers like ragdolls.

* * *

The battle seemed to have gone on for hours, upon hours, when it ended, the wounded were rushed to the Temple of Kynareth, the dead were identified and those whom had fought were welcomed either to Jorrvaskrr or the Bannered Mare, but nowhere among them did Onmund see the copper haired woman that was his wife.

The realization hit him like a wall.

Onmund raced towards the collapsed section of the wall, finding Cymbeline slumped against it, her right foot trapped under a rock and arrows sticking from her shoulder, abdomen and knee, broken arrows were splayed about her with countless healing potions, all empty and blood stained.

The mage got down on one knee, gently lifting the Imperial's face, her eyes were half lidded, life clung to them for dear… well… life.

With a clenched jaw, the nord cautiously placed his hands on the boulder that trapped her beneath it, and drew it away.

Cymbeline was a mess, and she drew in such a sharp breath that Onmund feared the worst.

He lifted her into his arms without warning and made a break for Whiterun, for Breezehome, he was sure she had brewed several batches of Healing Potions that morning.

There was so much blood when Onmund was done peeling Cymbeline's armor off her, he could see the extent of the damage, her shouting had worsened the wounds, bruises were already beginning to form from where arrows had bounced off her and from when she had hit the wall.

With a shaking hand, he watched golden light weave in and out of her wounds, the angry red marks closing up and leaving thick blood on her skin. Taking a damp cloth Lydia had retrieved for the Nord, Onmund began to dab away at the blood, her injuries were severe.

He wasn't sure she would make it out this time.

But then she cracked open her eyes, gave one of her signature smiles that spoke volumes of "_Not dead yet_", and Onmund knew she was fine, that she would live.

He hoped.

It was the time he almost lost her, and he would always remember.

* * *

**And that's it for this update's double chapter update. Hoping to see you guys on Saturday.  
Reviews are appreciated greatly, and I'll see you guys next time!**


	14. Meeting her Family

Winter had visited Skyrim and Cymbeline was already on her way back to Cyrodiil, she couldn't stand the cold, not even in Whiterun where she could stay inside Breezehome by the fire, but that wasn't productive and she would eventually run out of things to burn. And she couldn't stay at the College, despite their best enchantments, she still woke up to a thin layer of frost just inside her windows each morning, not to mention it was always snowing.

Onmund had never met Cymbeline's family, and the Imperial talked about them very little, what she did mention was that the Fire-Weaver was once a very well connected family in the courts of Cyrodiil. From what Onmund had inferred, the Fire-Weaver blood line had died down immensely after the Oblivion Crisis. He knew of her Half-Brother in the Imperial City from letters they would receive every so often, based off the seal on the letter, he probably worked in the Emperor's Court.

* * *

Cyrodiil was rolling hills and bare trees, their leaves shucked for the winter and a frosty nip in the air, it was undoubtably warmer as they approached the Imperial City. What's best was that there was not a Dragon in sight, well, one that was living. In the shadow of the White Gold Tower, Onmund felt his hand be held as he was taken across the bridge on the outside of the city, or at least, as much as Cymbeline could show him on dry land.

"Over there are the guard towers, I used to climb them as a child, not sure why the guards would get upset…Oh! And over there is the Waterfront, I had a few friends who lived over there, we should go see them later Onmund." The Imperial went off like a child, pointing out places she remembered from her childhood, it was good to hear some happy memories from her.

As they traversed through the gates, Cymbeline gave him a squeeze on his hand as a group of Thalmor passed them, stepping closer as they came out into the Plaza.

It was unlike anything Onmund had seen, white stone buildings circled a statue of Akatosh, their roofs were a shade of green that rivaled the grasses and bushes that lined the streets were they could. Iron lamps dotted the streets as civilians and travelers traversed the side walks, some heading into a near by hotel, others making their way back home or towards the other districts. It seemed much more alive than in Skyrim, instead of a grimm silence there was chatter and commerce.

"This used to be the Talos Plaza District, now it's just the Plaza District." Cymbeline explained, nodding to a familiar face as she passed by, "Over there is the Tiber Septim Hotel, really only a few ambassadors stay there a few nights while in Cyrodiil, but now they're usually housed in the Tower."

"Cymbeline? Is that you?" A woman's voice sounded clear as the two stopped on their way to the next district, Cymbeline turning to see who had called to her, a young woman with short brown hair and bottle green eyes stood a few paces behind them, one that was quickly crossed by an excited Dragonborn as she embraced her friend.

"I've missed you so much! There's so much I have to tell you about Skyrim Anne!" Cymbeline exclaimed with a bright smile, holding her friend's shoulders as she motioned for Onmund to join her side.

"And who is this Nord?" The young woman asked, eyeing up Onmund.

"This, is Onmund." Cymbeline began, taking his hand, "My husband."

"You got married? When was the ceremony, why didn't you tell me?" Anne asked questions quickly, her eyes wide in shock.

"Yes, it was a little while ago and Skyrim kinda had a little dragon problem." She explained with pauses as Anne nodded her head.

"So it's true? The Dragons and the Dragonborn's return?"

"All true."

"Oh, we'll have to talk later, I've got to get back to the Tavern, stop by if you need a drink!" And with that, Anne was gone.

"That was Anne, she's a friend of mine."

* * *

The Imperial City was much more different than Skyrim, with all its walled off districts and similar architecture, Onmund was baffled on how one could remember all the locations of the districts, their shops, the shop names, district names and still manage to tell apart their house from the others. He guessed it came from living in the city for a while.

"And this is… Green Emperor Way…" Cymbeline began on a chipper tone, but as if she remembered something important, grew quite as the first of the stone grave markers and tombs caught their eyes.

The White Gold Tower towered above them, casting a long shadow across the city, acting like a sort of gigantic sun dial, Onmund could see the damage the Oblivion Crisis had done to the tower, despite it being repaired to almost mint condition as several areas on the tower were a lighter or darker shade than the rest.

As they walked across the rich green grass, dew still clinging to the emerald blades, Onmund found himself looking at the gravestones and family tombs until they stopped at one, outfitted with the traditional painted green doors the other tombs had and white stone building the walls, a family name was inscribed at the top just like the others before it.

_Fire-Weaver._

"This is where my parents and ancestors are buried…"

At the base of the closed and locked doors was a bundle of flowers, fresh and untouched by the frost and dew that clung to the grass, as if placed there that very day.

"Love, if you ever start to feel uncomfortable, I can wait." Onmund said softly, wrapping an arm around her shoulder.

"It's fine, I've wanted to get this off my chest for a while now."

"Cymbeline!" A mans voice called this time, and when Onmund turned to meet him, he knew his relationship to Cymbeline. The man had coppery hair, that despite his efforts was unruly, pale skin with freckles just under a pair of amber eyes, he wore a simple set of rich clothes, or perhaps the simplest he could find.

"Elgar." Cymbeline greeted with a brief embrace when he was within range.

"What are you doing back in Cyrodiil? I wasn't expecting you for a few more years from the way you talked about the College in Winterhold." Elgar asked, eye brows raised as his eyes traveled to Onmund "And who is this?"

"My name's Onmund, she's my wife." Onmund introduced himself, extending a hand to the Imperial as his brow fell even, taking the Nord's hand in a strong grip.

"We came here for the winter, sorry for not informing you."

"It's alright, I was just heading home, if you'd like to join me for the night."

"Of course we would."

* * *

Elgar's house was in the Elven Gardens District, a District filled with large two storied houses and beautiful gardens, the occasional Thalmor Agent passed the group with little heed, not that Onmund mind, as long as they weren't as inane as in Skyrim he could deal with them for a little longer. The sun was just beginning to set when they made it to Elgar's home.

When the group entered the large elegant house, they were met with a warm blanket of air, and the smell of fresh bread. Anne instantly descending from the staircase that ran to the right across from the entrance.

"You'll never believe who I saw today- Oh, Cymbeline, Onmund. I see you've already met Elgar."

* * *

Anne and Elgar had been married shortly before Cymbeline had left for the College, Anne filling Onmund in on the details as they sat down to hot bowls of soup and slices of bread. Halfway through dinner, Elgar spoke up.

"So tell me about Skyrim Cymbeline, are there really Dragons?"

Cymbeline exchanged a nervous glance with Onmund as she took a shaky breath and spoke.

"Skyrim's a lot different than Cyrodiil, less politics and more tradition… and yes, there are Dragons… though a lot less than before." She added after a moments thought.

"Have you met the Dragonborn, I heard he was at the College of Winterhold." Elgar asked as Cymbeline folded her hands in her lap.

"There's another thing I need to tell you actually… Elgar… I am the Dragonborn."

"Really?"

"Yes." Anne and Elgar shared a look with each other before a knock came at the door, standing Elgar went to answer the door and was back moments later, excusing himself for work reasons and leaving without another word.

They shared a bed in the guest room that night, and were gone after a short uneventful breakfast the next morning, already on the road to Bravil.

* * *

It was an uneventful journey once more, filled with trees, rolling hills of frost ridden grass and sharp frozen air, leaves crunched underfoot and a watery smell filled the air as the city of Bravil came into view.

It was significantly smaller than the Imperial City, which was to be expected, but around the size of Whiterun. Scars of its past ravaged the city, from the occasional blood stained wood in an alley way and the odd symbols that Onmund often found throughout the Nine Holds in Skyrim.

Cymbeline's home was quaint, not quite as grand as Onmund would have thought, made of old wooden boards and strengthened with stonework and clay added recently. Stepping through the threshold, Onmund could feel the old enchantments in the air, they were weak and clumsily done, but he could guess who made them. An older man had greeted them, he was much unlike Cymbeline, with salt and pepper hair and dark eyes that widened at the sight of the copper haired Imperial.

"Uncle Tam." Cymbeline warmly greeted, shaking the man's hand, Tam seemed quite surprised when he felt the simple gold band around his Niece's finger, matching the one Onmund wore, his brow rose in question.

"Yes, we are." Cymbeline sighed, letting her hand fall back to her side as she looked around the place she had grown up in.

It hadn't changed since she had left, furnished with old woven and faded brown rugs, wooden furniture and bookshelves chock full of books on Alchemy, there was little surprise of the presence of the Alchemy Table in the corner of the room, right before the stair case leading upstairs to the two bedrooms.

It was later that Cymbeline explained that Uncle Tam could not speak and that her Aunt Beatrice had taught her Alchemy.

Onmund had never met Cymbeline's family before, but now that he was in Cyrodiil, he thought of his own.

It would be one of the many times he would spend winter in Cyrodiil.

* * *

**And I'm back, double update today, not next week, I believe this makes us a week ahead schedule, which is fine with me. Anyways, reviews are always appreciated and I'll see you next chapter!**


	15. Meeting his Family

Winter had come and gone, and the couple had returned to Skyrim for the Spring, which meant cleaning out the Breezehome of dust, dirt, used scrolls and empty potion bottles, it wasn't a daunting task as Lydia had taken good care of their home while they were away.

And then came the College of Winterhold, with the worst of the storms gone, the College had decided on a bit of spring cleaning. Failed experiments were taken down into the Midden and exterminated, burnt books were collected and left by a strange forge like room in the Midden, dirt and dust was swept from all the halls, the books in the Arcanaeum were reorganized and cataloged (A task that took well over three days with five people helping) and finally, what remained of the College Bridge was strengthened with magic as Cymbeline searched for a stone mason who wouldn't flee at the sight of the daunting quarter mile drop below the bridge, her efforts once again failing.

When the College was cleaned out and restocked, classes resumed as normal and Onmund could afford a visit to his family.

Clearing it with Cymbeline was easy, getting there was not.

* * *

Onmund lived on a small farm in the Rift, his family wasn't so thrilled that he was more interested in Magic rather than Hunting or Farming. Though it took years of insisting and a festering hatred towards his family, Onmund eventually made it to the College and his life was changed there. Perhaps their meeting Cymbeline would make them a little more acceptive towards him and other mages, though the Nord hated using his wife like that, he knew that is was for the best.

After nearly a week of solid hiking, the two mages finally reached Onmund's home.

It was quaint, a small farm house with fields rolling from it, newly grown cabbage plants and stacks of dried wheat, livestock roaming among the rows of crop. Nords worked in the fields, some lugging chopped lumber from the forest, others herding the livestock away from the crops and another repairing a fence that had been broken.

The farmer at the fence looked up for a moment, and a coy smirk rested agains his lips.

"Told ya the College was to hard for you Onmund." The man remarked as Onmund tensed, Cymbeline walking ahead of him slightly.

"Actually, he's done quite well." She stated calmly as she passed the man, whom simply looked appalled at the Imperial. Onmund simply followed after her with a hurried stride.

"Cymbeline, we've got to be careful. They don't know about us, don't know about what happened at the College." Onmund said hurriedly, looking around him as eyes pried at the two who stood there. Cymbeline had a frown on her face as she shook her head and looked to the side.

"I just don't like it when people insult you like that."

"Hey, he's my brother, I can deal with it love, but you…" Onmund trailed off, "I don't want to see them hurt you."

"Alright….. I understand." Cymbeline sighed.

Within moments they were at the house, and Onmund turned to his wife once more.

"I don't know how they'll react to my returning, we left on bad notes. So stay close to me, I'll introduce you to them as soon as I can."

And he turned back, and hesitated to open the door, his hand resting on the handle, Cymbeline stepped forewords and rested her hand on his.

"Together."

"Right."

And the door swung open on its hinges, the interior of the house was warm and welcoming, but Onmund knew better.

His mother stood by the fire place, turning around at his entrance and dropping the ceramic bowl in her hand, shattering against the wooden floor.

"Onmund?" The woman half shouted, her hands flying to her mouth in shock as a pair of foot steps stormed up the near by stair case.

"What are you doing back here?" A man asked sharply the moment his eyes fell on his son.

"Father, Mother. I want you to meet someone. This…" Onmund began, stepping aside "Is my wife, Cymbeline Fire-Weaver."

"An Imperial no doubt."

"I suspect you met her at the your College?" His father sneered, a frown on his face as his brows furrowed.

"Yes father, she may be Imperial, but she's stronger and more honorable than any Nord I have ever met." Onmund defended as Cymbeline remained silent, it was best to let them work this out themselves.

And then Onmund's father said the unthinkable.

"Prove it."

And Cymbeline was at him in a moment, tearing off her Dragon Scale Gauntlet and throwing it at his feet.

"We settle this honorably… Hroindr I, Cymbeline Fire-Weaver, challenge you to a duel." It was odd to Onmund that she knew his father's name, but he suddenly remembered letting the name slip casually on their way there.

The house fell silent, the only noise being the crackle of fire as Onmund stood in shock.

"I accept your challenge."

* * *

Moments later they were outside, Cymbeline just drawing a borrowed iron sword as Hroindr stood in front of her, sword at the ready and watching Onmund as he whispered to Cymbeline quickly.

"Cymbeline, he's much stronger with a sword than you are."

"That's alright, duel rules, I don't have to fight him with a _sword_." She whispered back and waved him off.

"Are you ready to loose Imperial?"

"In your dreams." Cymbeline smirked as their duel started.

She stood still until Hroindr was almost on top of her, dodging out of harms way she turned the sword over and shot her fist upwards, the pommel crashing into his wrist and causing the grip on his sword to falter, causing the iron sword to crash to the ground.

The match was called as Cymbeline held her borrowed blade to his neck, before anything could be said, a roar tore through the air as the blade in Cymbeline's hand clattered to the ground.

"Onmund! Get everyone inside now!" Cymbeline shouted as Onmund grabbed his father and forced him inside just as the dragon was descending upon the farmstead.

"Cymbeline!" Onmund shouted as she looked back at him, hair whipping in all directions.

"I'll be fine."

* * *

Onmund sat with his family and family friends down in the cellar, the sounds of battle between Cymbeline and the Dragon were still clear as day.

Hroindr sat in shock, closest to the stairs, eyes wide as they looked at Onmund.

"Dragonborn?"

"Yes father." Onmund sighed, standing in front of him, leaning against the cool clear wall as a shout shook the foundations.

"You married the Dragonborn?"

"I married Cymbeline." Onmund corrected.

"Dragonborn…. I can't believe it…. my own son… married to the Dragonborn…"

It fell silent, there was no shouting.

Onmund lifted his head and jumped over Hroindr, bounding up the stairs and throwing the doors open just as the last of the soul vanished into Cymbeline, whom stumbled back and took deep breaths to steady herself. Onmund himself frowned, she was expressing exhaustion each time she stole a soul, something was wrong and she wasn't telling him.

But Cymbeline had saved his family, earned his father's trust and most importantly, met the people who raised Onmund.

It was one of the many times she'd change people's minds.

* * *

**Late update and I have to admit, its not as good as I would have hoped, but its here and I managed it. From now on we'll be getting back to our regular updating schedule. Reviews are always accepted and I'll see you on Wednesday.**


	16. He always liked children

Onmund waited outside Angeline's Aromatics for Cymbeline to finish up restocking her supplies, the two had just finished up clearing out the hall of the dead for Falk Firebeard when the Imperial had realized she was out of certain ingredients.

The sun was high in the sky and there was the occasional billowing white cloud, it was the middle of summer and children were out and about, chasing each other in a game of tag.

A child stopped in front of him, a smile on his boyish face.

"Hey mister! Wanna play?"

* * *

"Are you sure this is all you have?" Cymbeline asked, mildly concerned as she looked down at the bundles of Imp Stools and Blisterworts on the wooden counter in front of her, she was completely out of the said ingredients and their journey back to Whiterun wouldn't take her anywhere near a cave where these grew in abundance.

"I'm sure this is all I have dearie, anything else?" Angeline answered with a question, the Imperial in front of her shook her head and paid the proper amount of septims before taking the supplies she had bought and leaving the store.

Cymbeline stepped out under the shadow of the shop's roof, searching for Onmund and finding him crouched down, telling a group of children a story with a bright look in his eyes, a smile on his face and his arms being used to exaggerate.

"This dragon was huge! Bigger than a barn and more ferocious than a saber cat! It breathed fire so hot it could have melted iron swords!" Onmund told the bright eye'd children as they listened in, Cymbeline shaking her head with a smile on her face, Onmund always did like children.

"And Rorikstead was saved by the Dragonborn and her companion."

The children erupted into a bundle of questions and awe, Onmund doing his best to answer them all before the group of children disbanded and returned to their game of tag.

"You handled them pretty well love." Cymbeline commented as Onmund stood and smoothed down his robes.

"I just want them to be happy, with the war going on it gets harder for them to smile."

"Would you ever want to have a child of your own one day?" Cymbeline asked, looking away as they left Solitude, suddenly finding the ground oh so interesting.

"Maybe one day, of course, only if you're up to it dear."

"I'll think about it…. come on, last one to the stables cooks dinner."

Onmund always liked children, and Cymbeline would always remember all the times he would make them smile.

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**And I've returned with another chapter, finally got my class schedule so I can start on balancing out the work load for the year, anyways, chapter's up and reviews are always appreciated, with that I'll see you next time!**


	17. Sparks

Three years had passed since Cymbeline had slain Alduin in the depths of Sovengarde, two years had passed since she married and one has passed since the twins were born.

Rel and Aren were a handful, while Rel was calm like Onmund she was starting to sport her mothers copper hair and signature smile. Aren was loud and bore his fathers eyes, and his mothers charm.

Raising them wasn't easy, with each passing year the children grew, and their talents did so.

Rel was able to craft potions at the age of four, although they were simple and she did have her mothers watchful eye over her, Aren wasn't as skilled as his sister, instead preferring to climb atop the jarl's palace at the age of six. He hadn't fallen yet, but it was still concerning to the family.

Born as twins, the siblings didn't expect their parents to have another child, a girl going by the name of Irasabeth.

Irasabeth was an odd one, only bearing her fathers eyes, she sported light blond hair, supposedly coming from the Fire-Weaver side of the family. Her interests weren't in climbing or alchemy, but in the Dwemers and Snow Elves, ever since Cymbeline brought home a spider worker and told of an old Dwarven ruin built into the side of a cliff, Irasabeth was hooked, delving herself into old books and examining the spider's build.

It was when Irasabeth was three that their final sibling came to life.

His name was Gadiel, he bore his mothers eyes and Onmund's hair, but was cursed to be the next Dragonborn.

It was frightening to Cymbeline the first time he complained of chanting in his head as they passed an empty word wall near Solitude, she knew what it meant and she almost broke down. Onmund was there and the moment he saw Cymbeline's eyes widen and her skin grow pale, he grabbed her hand and held it tightly.

That night they had their first argument.

None of the children remember it, they were all too busy listening to the little wood elf with milky eyes as she sang ballads of the past.

With the four children growing, Breezehome became cozier and difficult to gain privacy from.

Years passed and each child eventually left and went their separate ways.

Aren to Riften and practically vanishing off of Tamriel, sending his family a letter each month with a new trinket each time, be it an amulet or a simple enchanted ring. A thief by trade.

Rel ventured to Morthal, apprenticing under the local alchemist and eventually moving to Solitude.

Irasabeth remained the longest, but she eventually left, her broken spider worker with her. The last Cymbeline and Onmund had heard, she was in Markarth and learning so much from Calcelmo and his nephew.

At the age of fifteen, Gadiel's abilities came into being and he found himself atop the throat of the world.

They had raised a family together. And it was one of Onmund's favorite times to remember.

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**Guess who's back? Me. Yeah. That's right.**

**I feel this chapter was rushed, but I'll explain why below I guess.**

**But, anyways, there's really only two chapters left of this story and it's been really fun to write. Please excuse the lack of word from me, I've been stuck moving into my new flat and settling into school life. Not to mention my computer has decided to fail on me so I've had no access to any of the chapter plans so this was off the top of my head, I'm working out that issue at the moment and hopefully I'll be able to get a new one soon.**

**Reviews are welcome and constructive criticism is appreciated.**


	18. Onmund Alone

Cymbeline had died twenty years ago.

They say it was all the fighting, the souls that the dragon in her soul had devoured and the thu'ums she called forth. It had done something to her, weakened her from the inside and caused her to cough up blood in her last few years. It had gotten worse as she aged, it became hard for her to breath and hard for her to move for a long while after a shout. Although many of the dragons had been hunted down by her, they had not been completely eradicated. And there were times that the older dragonborn was called to dispatch them quickly.

With their children having moved out, the two had returned to Winterhold.

And she had died, slipping away from Onmund.

They had buried her with her family in Cyrodiil, the tomb opened and Onmund gave his wife one last look in the dying sunlight.

When the Nord returned to Winterhold alone, he was called Arch Mage, he didn't feel like he earned it.

Years past and although Onmund had contact with his children, he was alone in his chambers at the college.

Now he laid in his bed, a blanket pulled over his legs, his skin pale and wrinkled, and his eyes dulled.

His children surrounded him, Aren sporting a few scars with a young Breton at his back, her gray eyes glancing away from the dying man in the bed before her, the thieves guild armor adorning both.

Rel was closest to his side, a priestess in Solitude, the warm orange robes she wore brought little happiness to the room, dulled down. She held back tears as her shoulders shook.

Irasabeth had changed, she was once a happy young woman, now she stood there solid like a rock, her face unmoving but her eyes spoke volumes of tears threatening to spill over. At her side a hiss of steam came from the revived Dwarven Spider, now silent as it sat at its masters side.

Gadiel was there, his eyes wide and empty, skin the same pale shade he bore the moment he had rushed into the quarters. His armor hung off his body as if it was sizes too big.

The Mage lights that hung around the round Arch Mage Chambers were starting to dim as Onmund took a ragged breath.

And looked out the window.

It was winter, snow hadn't fallen for two days, but now it fell freely in delicate flakes. All he could see was her copper hair, adorned with a crown of snow.

A fire roared in the fire place Cymbeline had added in years ago, her enchantments kept the flames burning bright and warm, now the fire had gone to embers, glowing a molten gold that two of his children bore.

The years without Cymbeline had been rough, he couldn't remember how many times he had woken up to an empty bed when he thought he had heard her stir next to him.

"Father?" Rel asked tentatively, voice hardly above a broken whisper, placing her hand hesitantly atop her father's, soon followed by the rough calloused hand of Gadiel. Aren followed, the Breton behind him looked over and back at the floor again, muttering something along the lines of an apology and something about a family before she walked away and behind the curved wall of the quarter. A sob quickly being suppressed as she left.

Irasabeth leaned over, placing her hands atop her sibling's hands.

Onmund turned his head to gaze up at Rel. His vision was blurry.

"Cymbeline?"

He could feel the tears atop his arm.

And then.

...

...

...

_Sleep_.

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**Oh... This actually wanted to make me cry to tell the truth. Well. The next chapter will be the last. It'll end on a more happier note. I promise. **


	19. She Waited

"Onmund?"

Onmund groaned as he turned his head to the side, icy grass tickled his cheek.

"Wake up sleepy head, we've got a lot to do!"

_Cymbeline?_

Deep blue eyes cracked open.

Sunlight poured in, bright and intrusive. Blinding.

A shadow fell over Onmund as wind and warm breath whispered across his skin.

Onmund opened his eyes, blue fell upon gold and his eyes widened.

He didn't stop to think, only act, he tackled her practically, wrapping his arms tightly around the imperial and burying his face in the side of her neck. Tears beginning to form and overflow into the worn fabric of her apprentice robes.

"Glad to see you again. I've been waiting."

They had been together for a long time, it was hard to recount all the times. All the times Onmund patched Cymbeline up after battles, all the times he would pick her up from the snow, all the times she would help him with spells, all the times she would take his hand and place the gentlest of kisses upon his calloused finger tips. All the times they shed blood for each other and all the times they took the first step to a new adventure.

And all the times they just held one another in the middle of the night.

Cymbeline had waited twenty years in Sovengarde alone, always watching and always waiting for him.

It was the last time she waited for him.

And the last time he let her wait.

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**And so the end has come.  
**

**I did enjoy writing this, quite a lot, even if it did get a little bumpy for a little bit. **

**I hope you readers enjoyed reading this, and I hope you'll look for me again, I would love to hear your feed back**.


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